


House Rules

by ThePrincessOfPirates



Series: The Cabinet [2]
Category: 18th & 19th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Blood Kink, Choking, M/M, Masochism, Master/Pet, Multi, Pain Kink, Polyamory, Possessive Behavior, Sadism, Spanking, Thomas has a daddy kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 16:19:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7581238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePrincessOfPirates/pseuds/ThePrincessOfPirates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The request was simple, don't leave any bruises.  And yet, Thomas Jefferson still couldn't restrain himself enough to follow the rules.  He always was bad with authority figures.  He never learned any self-restraint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to apologize to Lin Manuel Miranda and Daveed Diggs and honestly the entirety of humanity for spending real actual time on this. It is sin and I need Jesus, probably.

Thomas Jefferson is never his first choice. The list usually goes something like Washington, Laurens or Lafayette, Aaron Burr, James Maddison on a bad day, and then maybe, if he's desperate, Thomas Jefferson and not because he even likes the man but just because he knows he can goad him into it. There is, however something special in Jefferson that's maybe pulling the man up from the bottom of his list. Maybe it's the smooth, Southern lilt, almost as intoxicating as Lafayette's thick French accent. Maybe it's his tendency to bite to draw blood, something that not even Burr is willing to do. Maybe it's just that they only do this when he's desperate and as you know, thirst makes water just that much sweeter. Whatever it is, it's good.

“Oh darlin', you're gonna get blood all over the place if you aren't careful,” Thomas teases, the taste of copper in Alexander's mouth reminding him of the split lip he'll have to deal with later.

“It's your fault I'm bleeding,” Alexander growls earning himself a firm hand to his throat and another on his shoulder, pressing him into the desk he's currently getting fucked into.

“If you can't watch your mouth I might find some other ways to keep you from talking,” Snark drips off of every word and the hand on Alexander's throat pressed down just enough to make him wheeze.

“I dare you to,” he huffed. “Leave a bruise.”

“Since you asked so nicely...” Thomas purrs, waiting until Alexander takes a deep breath in before he tightens his grip and picks up his pace. Alexander's moans turn into wheezes and his eyes start to roll back in his head. One of Alexander's hands comes to gently stroke Thomas' arms, his hips rolling to meet Jefferson's.

“Oh, lamb, you're beautiful like this,” Thomas pants, hips snapping at a fast clip, lifting the weight off his arm at a warning tap from Hamilton. “Take a bigger breath this time.” Alexander provides no response except for labored breathing. He grabs Thomas' wrist, taking a few deep, big breaths before pushing the hand against his windpipe again.

“There ya go, that's it... That's- nggggg- it,” Thomas struggles to get out, muscles tensing and heat pooling in his stomach.

“Stop me now if you're gonna need a breath soon,” Thomas warns, his pace becoming fast and erratic. Alexander manages to shake his head despite being pinned to the desk, his grip on Thomas' arm tightening to near bruising. Thomas' struggles to no hurt Alexander as his hand starts to clench up around his throat, his last few thrusts pulling the other man over the edge with him.

For a minute afterwords, the only sound in the room is the too men gasping for air.

“That was amazing...” Alexander croaks out, still shivering.

“Am I better at that than Washington?” Thomas asks, collapsing into the desk chair behind him.

“Washington hardly ever chokes me and it's only before we start, as punishment, never during,” Alexander admits, a smirk playing at his lips.

“He's never done that for you?” Thomas searches through his desk for some sort of hankerchief.

“I've asked him to but he never does,” Alexander's body finally begins to stop shaking. “He says he's scared of hurting me.”

“Always a pleasure to outdo Washington. Did you have fun?” Thomas replies, pulling a simple cotton kerchief from one of his desk drawers.

“I saw fireworks...” Alexander mumbles, taking the cloth from Thomas to clean the mess he'd made on his own stomach.

“A job well done,” Thomas jokes. “Care for something to drink, tea, water? Dehydration is a constant enemy.”

“Tea, please, sweet with cream,” Hamilton works to gather up his garments scattered around the office, grabbing his drawers from under the desk and pulling his breeches on after finding them on the couch. Knowing that he and Jefferson are alone in the house, he only finds what he deems to be appropriate for the situation, his breeches and his shirt, his stockings having not left his person during the ordeal.

He walks, sock footed, to the kitchen of the building, hearing Thomas inside mussing with cups and the kettle.

“You can walk, it's a miracle!” Thomas jokes, handing a cup of milky looking tea to the other secretary.

Hamilton takes a large gulp from the cup, tasting the mix of sweet and salty as the drink mixes with the blood from his lip. There's swirls of red in his cup and he places it back on the counter.

“Finish that and then go wash up,” Thomas grimaces and the blood coming from Alexander's lip.

Hamilton wipes most of the excess blood off of his face but leaves the scrapes and scabs alone, trying to help the somewhat small wound on his lip stop bleeding. He doesn't look presentable in the end, suck bruises coming up so high on his neck that even if his collar was fully buttoned it wouldn't matter and his nose bridge bruised and scraped from Jefferson pushing his face into the desk.

“I just look awful, don't I?” Alexander mumbles to himself, seeing the sun setting out the small window of the bathroom and deciding to turn in for the night.


	2. Clean Up And Self-Restraint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here comes Martha Washington, a character who I love and feel would look like Queen Latifah from The Secret Life Of Bees.

Alexander awakes to the sound of a carriage rolling up the front step of the estate, Washington returning home from a business trip at the crack of dawn. As he makes his way to his washroom to clean up and make himself look presentable for the day he remembers the state he's in.

His face alone is a mess, the scrapes and bruises and blood smears making him a ghastly sight. Though his nose doesn't look distorted, it's bleeding and the bridge is dark giving the impression that it could be broken. His lip, along with being split in one place, has recognizable bruising from where Jefferson bit him. There's a slight bruise running across the point of his left cheekbone, large and lavender in the early morning light.

He washes what he can of the blood from his face, still only making himself look slightly better. He picks from his closet, a high collared shirt, the frills and folds at the top still not being able to completely cover the bite marks but being able to distract from most of the bruising. Just as he's flattening out all of his clothes in his mirror before heading out to meet Washington, Jefferson knocks on his door.

“Washington's here!” He says, panic lacing his voice. He's in a rather embarrassing state of undress, the only thing other than his night gown he's wearing is a pair of rumpled stockings.

“Yes, and,” Hamilton replies. Washington, as the, lets say, handler of both of them is not unaware of their dynamic though he doesn't enjoy that it allows Jefferson to get what he wants during escapades which is not how Washington likes to see the Virginian treated.

“You can't see him today!” Thomas warns. “He gave me very specific instructions from last time.” His eyes dart around. “I wasn't supposed to...” He gestures to his own neck.

“You weren't supposed to bite me?” Hamilton supplies.

“I wasn't supposed to leave any marks at all,” Thomas' face reads fear.

“Thomas, I'm sorry but I'm gonna have to meet him face to face today but I will see if I can hold him off...” Alexander sighs. “Get dressed, do what you can to look decent, let's make it seem as if it's not as bad as it is.” Thomas nods and escapes.

Hamilton doesn't immediately greet Washington, though there's no expectation for him to considering how short his trip was, he sits in his office doing what he can to postpone their inevitable meeting until later in the afternoon, when he has a pile of paperwork that George really needs.

“Sir,” The door creaks open and Washington is sitting at his desk, invested in reading a document splayed out in front of him.

“Alexander, I was meaning to talk with you,” Washington replies, placing down the page he had been holding. “There's been a rescheduling for the dinner party-” He stops mid sentence.

“Alexander?” His voice is quiet, as if he's preparing for things to get messy quickly.

“Yes, sir?” Hamilton does his best to keep a composed facade.

“If you would be so kind as to come closer to my desk and lower your collar for me,” It's an obvious command.

Alexander does as he's told, untying his neck cloth and pulling down his shirt just enough to show the sucker bruises and choke marks marring his throat.

“If you would please leave whatever you've brought me on my desk, I need you to accompany me to have a quick meeting with Mr. Jefferson.” Washington announces, standing up and heading out of his office with Hamilton in tow. Before he leaves he grabs the riding crop from it's coat hook by his door.

“Jefferson do you remember what I told you last time you did this?” His voice is louder and sharper, more threatening than it usually is with Alexander.

“Yes, sir,” Jefferson sits up stock straight in his chair, nearly knocking his tea cup over in the movement.

“I don't think you do, because you managed to let it happen again.” Washington takes a few more commanding steps towards the desk, Hamilton following him closely.

“Sir, I'm sorry, it's my fault,” Alexander apologizes. “Every mark you see on me I asked for.”

“I specifically asked Mr. Jefferson here to have enough self-control to resist your requests.” The much taller man twists the leather of the riding crop in his hands, a subtle threat. “This is not a situation in which I expected or asked you to show discipline, though I would have liked if you had, but it's one where I hoped I could have expected more from him.”

“Sir,” Thomas tries to interject.

“Thomas, I ought to take you over my knee and give you a good tanning right this very moment!” Jefferson is nearly shaking from just how loud Washington is getting, his usual decorum, swaying more towards quietly dominant, currently cracking and revealing seams of anger. “But I won't and do you know what's at least postponing your punishment?”

“No, sir,” Jefferson is trying to keep himself together.

“We've got a dinner party tonight and I'd hate if you couldn't sit down for it.” Washington punctuates his sentence by reaching forward and grabbing the back of Thomas' hair. “I've got to get you decent before seven.” Hamilton tries to scurry away, but his pony tail gets caught in the man's other hand as he's leading Jefferson out. “You too, Alexander.”

“Martha,” His voice is calm again, but still has an edge as they enter the lady of the house's parlor room. “These two young men decided to get themselves into quite the state, if you wouldn't mind getting them at least half decent for tonight's dinner.”

“Again?” Martha chides, grabbing Jefferson's shoulder. “You two just can't seem to keep out of trouble.”

“I'm sorry ma'am...” Hamilton's eyes look towards the floor as the man who led them in walks back to his office.

“It's alright, darlin'.” She gives them both a motherly smile. “Now let's see what we're working with? Shirts off, I don't want to get your collars soaked in the process of cleanin' you two up.”

The two men sheepishly unbutton their shirts and place them on the chair nearest to them. Martha is like their mother in a sense, sweet and kind and there to lend a hand where the “father” of the house can't. She and Washington have a romantic relationship but not much else and that leaves her as the mother figure for her husband's lovers.

“Thomas, please grab the small scissors off the vanity to my left and shorten your nails,” Martha comments as she sees the scratch marks across Alexander's stomach. “You nearly drew blood in a few places.”

She grabs from the medicine cabinet in the room a bottle of cleaning alcohol and a small rag.

“Tip your head to the side,” she orders, trying to wipe the little bits of blood off Alexander's neck and make the bruises look as presentable as possible. “I don't think there's going to be much we can do for these marks, do you have an even higher collared shirt?”

“I think I have one but it's got a laced edge which always seems like just too much,” Hamilton winces as she presses the rag a bit too roughly against one of the bruises.”

“Good, lace is distracting not to mention you'll want to look done up tonight,” Her eyes scan over the rest of Alexander's face, thinking of what to do next. “Not only will the dinner hall be full of important people but since I won't be attending, you'll be George's companion and, to an extent, my stand in, so lace is just what we need.”

“So Hamilton needs to look like a girl?” Jefferson snorts, fiddling with the manicure scissors in a desperate attempt to get some dexterity out of his left hand.

“You're not wrong but you're not right either,” Martha strides across the room to grab some other items off the vanity. “He needs to provide the contrast that I usually do. Where George is rough, he needs to be delicate. Where my husband is imposing, he needs to look approachable and harmless. Now what are we going to do about that nose?” She looks at the box of materials and grabs a small tin from it. “I really hope this shade of paint isn't too light for you...”

“I'm lighter than you, aren't I?” Alexander places his hand next to hers to show how his more caramel tinted skin contrasts to her, darker, milk tea complexion.

“This type of paint is meant to lighten the skin. This is probably going to sting,” she replies, Alexander bracing himself as the pad of her thumb runs down his bruised nose bridge, spreading the product over his skin. It hurts but he's always had a high tolerance for pain. “That looks pretty alright... Are aware that there are teeth bruises on your lower lip?”

“Sorry,” Thomas interjects, still wrestling with the scissors.

“It's almost as if you two aim to hurt each other...” Martha sighs, covering up the bruise on Hamilton's left cheek with more of the make up.

“We do.” Jefferson's statement is blunt but not without humor.

“Next time, try to keep most of this,” she gestures to Alexander's throat and face, “where people won't notice it.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Thomas looks towards his feet.

“While it's seen as a bit immoral to wear lip rouge, there is not other way for us to cover up those bruises and this should be light enough to not really show,” Martha grabs another little tin, this time of tinted lip salve. In the end it doesn't completely block out the bruising but the translucent tint buffers out the bite marks.

“Thomas do you have a higher collared shirt than that, I can see some teeth just at the top.” Martha puts the finishing touches on what damage control she's done on Alexander.

“Yeah, I've got a few.” Thomas places the scissors on the small table next to him.

“That's all you'll need.” Martha retorts giving Alexander a pat on the shoulder to tell him to go change. “Unlike Alexander, it's alright if it looks like you got in a fight, no one will care if you've been roughed up.” She sits up from her chair and straightens out her skirt. “Now both of you make sure you look your best, you'll be shown off tonight.”


	3. In Attendance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying this because I wasted a decent chunk of my actual life on this. I put off homework to write this.

The party is like many of the others they've been forced to attend, grand chandeliers hanging from the ceilings and an excessive amount of introductions to people who were important but boring. Hours were wasted away with just Washington pulling him into useless conversations about politics he wasn't even involved in. It wasn't until they got to the later hours of the night, when Alexander was being introduced to the more eccentric party goers that he started enjoying himself.

He honestly didn't mind the short conversations with Prussian dignitaries who looked him up and down and compared him to their compatriots, often remarking that Alexander was more exotic and smarter than their own “secretaries”. Tonight, there was a couple from France who consisted of a woman who had inherited her family estate and the young lady who was her reason for not wanting to get married. They were unique and often seemed more casual and at ease with them than the other attendees. They acted like friends rather than business partners, something Alexander missed.

While the party itself was a bit of a drag aside from the few new acquaintances, nothing was quite as bad as the carriage ride home.

“Alexander, I see my wife has done you up for tonight's event,” George jokes as the carriage finally starts to get moving.

“Thank you sir.” A smile cracks across Alexander's face.

“She did wonders for that bruised nose bridge,” Thomas chuckles, noting the only slight purple tint of the patch of skin.

“An injury that was of your doing,” George's tone shifts dramatically.

“I already said I was sorry,” Thomas huffs.

“I'll have that talk with you later,” Washington's voice is brusque.

“Yes sir,” Jefferson rattles off quickly.

The rest of the carriage ride home they talk of nothing but the politics of the evening. Stories of dignitaries they met and their relations with other countries occupied the hour or so. The foyer of the house gives a welcome break from the chill of early spring as the three men rid themselves of their jackets.

“Alexander, as lovely as you look tonight, I must say that I have some personal business to attend to with Thomas and therefor I cannot take you to bed for the evening.” Washington's voice is sweet and courteous, gentlemanly.

“Perfectly alright, I was hoping to get the night to myself anyway.” Alexander quickly slips away into the upstairs rooms.

“My office.” It's a command, not a request.


	4. Final Judgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the real kinky shit! So if you're not up for a daddy kink fic, turn back now. Otherwise, enjoy a chapter that isn't uncomfortably short.

Washington's office isn't a scary place. It's well lit, clean, and spacious. But considering the circumstances, it's never seemed more like a dungeon to Thomas.

“I expected more out of you, Thomas!” He's growling. “Not only that, I asked more of you. Alexander has no self control when he's desperate, I know that, but you do. Do you not think?”

“I wasn't thinking, sir, I'm sorry.” Thomas' gaze fixes at his shoes.

“Exactly, which makes me wonder if I'm going to have to teach you some of that self restraint I hoped you had.” George is pacing around him.

Thomas doesn't reply.

“Over the desk,” Washington heads for the closet in his office, footsteps even and focused. He places the riding crop on the desk next to him, parallel to Thomas' torso and just within his sight.

“Pull your hips up.” Jefferson complies allowing Washington to unbutton his breeches and pull them down to his knees.

“How many strikes do you think are due for this offense?” It sounds like a real question that he wants an answer to.

“As many as you see fit, sir, but I think 15 would be appropriate.” He keeps the left side of his face pressed into the wood of the desk.

“That sounds about right.” The crop flits out of his view. “Count for me.”

The first blow is sharp and jarring. “One,” Thomas winces out.

“Two.” It's just as hard and it feels like cold water being thrown on him after the night of mint juleps and socializing.

“Three, four.” They're in quick succession.

There's a moment of suspense before Washington strikes again.

“That was five and six, sir,” Thomas is a stuttering mess already, Washington shifting behind him for a moment to place his palm against the irritated skin, touch both soothing and stinging.

“Do you know why I'm so angry with you?” Washington asks, hands rubbing in defined circles.

“Because I hurt Alexander-” He's cut off by a sharp slap, not a crop but a hand. “Seven.”

“Because you broke one of my things.” Washington punctuates a sentence with another sharp slap.

“Eight.”

“I gave you specific instructions not to touch him.” No blows but the sting still lingers.

“I'm sorry, sir.” He's panting, not yet to sobbing point.

“What's that thing you called me once...” Washington takes a moment to think, stilling his movement and in that moment Jefferson remembers one of the most embarrassing moments of his life.  
“Oh that's right, you wanted to call me Daddy.”

“Sir I...” He's struggling to find an explanation.

“Don't talk back to me Thomas.” It almost sounds like a hiss. “You're the one who broke one of Daddy's toys, you don't get the right to argue.” It's the hardest smack yet, still not even having half of the General's full strength behind it.

“Nine!” It's a gasp and scream and Alexander's room is right above them and he won't hear the end of this for a while if he keeps making noises like that. He hears the creak of leather again and he can tell that Washington has picked up the recently discarded crop.

“Ten, eleven, twelve!” They're almost too fast and hit right where bright red hand prints probably sit.

“I hope I've taught you a lesson with this!” The remark is patronizing and degrading almost.

“Yes, sir,” Thomas' breath is heavy.

“Come again?” The crop presses against his back, threatening more strikes.

“Yes, Daddy!” He earns himself another quick smack and a chuckle.

“Thirteen.” He's struggling to keep track.

“I hope you remember this next time to you go for Alexander when I'm away.” His voice is biting and commanding, in a way it's never been before. “Remember how I bent you over my desk and gave you a good tanning for it.” 

He interjects with a quick smack, Thomas just barely panting “Fourteen,” in response.

“I want you to remember what happens when you mess with Daddy's playthings.” The final blow is the hardest of them all, Thomas' scream ringing through the room.

“That was fifteen si- Daddy.” Washington has rolled him over on the desk, tossing him around like a rag doll.

The rough palm on his heart rests just at the bottom of his ribs, feeling the pounding in his chest and the deep inhale and exhale. His body feels like a ringing tuning fork, reverberating what's left of the sound in him until it dies away.

The creak of floorboards above him mixes with the sound of Washington digging through one of his desk drawers and he's reminded that Alexander can most definitely hear at least a little of what they're doing.

He's not really thinking for the next minute or so, just existing, feeling as Washington stretches him out with the tin of ointment that's hidden in his desk. His hands aren't soft which is something that makes Jefferson wince but in a good way.

“Still with me, Thomas?” He opens his eyes to look up at the man who's currently knuckle deep in him with two fingers.

“Yeah...” It's an ecstatic sigh.

“Good.” The smile on his face seems like he's breaking character from a prewritten script. “Ready?”

“Just one more second to adjust but go for it.” Jefferson tries to relax his tense back into the flat of the desk.

There's a moment of nothingness before a sensation that feels like ice cracking in his belly, shattering up his spine and causing him to arch up against Washington's hands.

“Oh GOD!” It's a reverent moan and it resonates in the hallow part of his chest as Washington makes quick work of throwing the now freed breeches to the couch nearest to him and unbuttoning Thomas' long tailed shirt.

“Shhhh... You make far too much noise,” Washington murmurs, Thomas' hands twisting deep into the fabric of his jacket, trying to pull the two of them closer. Jefferson gets pushed back against the desk, large hands disentangling his fingers from the general's jacket. The rough finger pads trail over his chest and stomach, sending arcs of electricity through his spine.

“I- I- I-” Thomas gives up on speech and simply lets a long, drawn out moan escape his lips.

“How beautiful you are when you're broken.” George riddles his face with burning kisses. “Like a geode cracked open wide and oh so wonderfully mine.”

“I'm yours,” Thomas repeats. It sounds like a sigh and no words have ever felt better on his tongue.

“Exactly,” Washington's smile is warm and proud as he picks up his pace. “You and Alexander, both of you are mine. My boys, my possessions, my playthings.”

“Yes, sir.” A voice so steeped in enthusiasm it would sound fake in any other context.

George clears his throat, stilling for a moment.

“Of course, Daddy!” He shouts and he knows someone will hear but it doesn't even matter.

“Good boy, Tommy.” George places a kiss right by his ear. “I think we can still teach you to be obedient and patient like Daddy wants.”

“Anything that Daddy wants,” Thomas mumbles.

“Yes, exactly.” Washington smiles against his skin.

“Daddy?” Thomas' panting voice asks for permission to continue.

“Yes, baby?” George rubs at his boy's stomach.

“Can you please move faster?” Thomas' chest heaves.

“Of course, Tommy.” The pace he picks is relentless and has Thomas somewhere in between screaming and giggling he's so giddy. It's not long before they're both signing streams of white across Jefferson's stomach and chest.

He pads quietly up to his room, not quite walking straight after the whole affair and meets face to face with Alexander's smug smile.

“I'm too tired to argue with you.” Thomas sighs.

“I can tell. I actually wanted to congratulate you.” Hamilton leans casually against the door frame leading to his room. “That was an impressive show and I'm making that assumption from just what I heard through the floor boards.”

“You really think so?” Jefferson scoffs.

“Come on in here, I'll wash you up.” Alexander leads him into the bathroom.

George finds them the next morning, curled together in Hamilton's bed, just sleeping. No bite marks or bruises that weren't there before, just two boys entangled in each others' arms lost in blissful sleep.


End file.
